


The Big Easy

by Vincent_PancakeKing



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27740920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vincent_PancakeKing/pseuds/Vincent_PancakeKing
Summary: Set in the mid 1940s, but starting in the Roaring 20's in New Orleans, AKA The Big Easy.Marshall is an aspiring chef, and his friend, Leonard, is just along for the ride. Marshall wants to open a restaurant of his own, and Leonard would do anything to help him.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 1





	The Big Easy

When I was younger, I always had a gift for cooking. I  _ loved _ to cook. I loved food. My best friend loved to try the food I made. I had stacks of stacks of recipe books in my room. Every now and then, I made something new.

“Wow, Marshall!” my friend would say. “This is the best I’ve ever had!” “You say that every time, Leonard,” I would respond, cleaning the pot or pan I used to make the dish. “Really, it’s nice that you think that. Makes me feel good.” 

“Well you ought to feel good, man!” Leonard would continue to stuff his face with whatever I made for him. “You really have a gift!”

He’d say that every time I made something new. Gumbo, jambalaya, etouffee, everything. And when I switched to desserts, I really sparked his sweet tooth. Beignets, pralines, bananas foster… Oh, the bananas foster. It was so delicious when I made it.

Leonard was the first person to ever tell me that I had a gift. My parents would tell me that, too, but… it felt different whenever Leonard said it. It made my heart soar.

If you hadn’t caught on, my name is Marshall. Marshall Hamilton. I was born and raised here in New Orleans. The Big Easy. It’s hard growing up here because of… well… my background. But we make it work. It’s all about family and friendship down here.

My friend is Leonard. He’s the only person that I’ve ever been truly close with. We met when he needed his suit mended because it had a hole in the sleeve. My mother helped out. I was taken with her. I met Leonard that day, and I’ve never seen anyone else like him.

I mean, I’ve seen loads of people like him. Walking up and down the street in the French Quarter. Lots of them-- rich and snobby, wearing fur coats and driving the latest models of cars. But… I’ve never seen anyone like him. I’ve never met anyone like him.

I was about ten, maybe eleven when I met Leonard. When I saw him and he saw me, he smiled, the dimples in his cheeks so deep, I hated seeing them disappear. His fair skin like milky crystal, his eyes a bright robin’s egg blue, glimmering with kindness. His hair was a mop of shimmering obsidian curls. 

“Hi.” he said. “I’m Leonard Benoit.” he said. He held out his hand for me to shake. I was afraid to touch his hand-- to get his hands dirty. But it would have been rude otherwise. I took his hand-- they were soft and warm-- so delicate. Complete strangers to labor. I smiled a little. Leonard’s smile returned. The dimples returned. My heart fluttered. I stammered, but managed to get out that my name was Marshall Hamilton.

While my mom went to work on fixing Leonard’s suit, Leonard and I spent that time in the kitchen. There were recipe books in there-- I was absolutely enthralled by them. So many possibilities. I turned to Leonardo, pointing at a page in the book.

“C-Can I make this here?” I asked. I was pointing at ratatouille. Leonard’s eyes widened. “You’re gonna dice ‘em or slice ‘em?” Leonard asked. “Either way, it’s ratatouille and I love ratatouille.” I smiled a little.

“I’ll make it extra fancy, then,” I said. I looked around. I gathered all the ingredients I needed, then a knife, cutting board, and pan. I sliced the tomatoes, eggplant, peppers and onions. I arranged them neatly in the pan in a pattern. Tomato, eggplant, onion, pepper, reverse. I saw no zucchini, so I didn’t add it. It didn’t matter to me. The dish would taste fine without it. I topped the vegetables in the pan off with garlic and herbs. I then put it in the oven and sat at the table next to Leonard.

“You certainly know your way in the kitchen,” Leonard said, resting his cheek in his palm. “I like to think that, yeah.” was my response. Leonard continued to smile.

“You know, you’re a fascinating guy, Marshall,” Leonard said. “Have you ever made anything else besides ratatouille?” I thought for a moment. I made gumbo on many occasions. I made etouffee once. I helped my mom make a po boy once. I told Leonard just that. He looked impressed. He then got up and ran out of the kitchen. I watched him go, unsure of whether or not to follow. I didn’t even know where he went-- his house was huge. I continued to wait, my hands folded on the table.

Soon, Leonard returned. With his father. Leonard definitely looked like his father-- the same bright eyes and thick, dark hair. Leonard’s father eyed me and smiled.

“Sure smells good in here.” he said. He looked at the oven. Wouldn’t be long until the ratatouille was done. It was already beginning to smell good. My stomach twisted in hunger. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate anything. I think I was too busy studying just to get into culinary school that I only focused on reading and memorizing recipes and trying them out and getting my parents and neighbors to sample them. I never even thought to enjoy the meals myself.

The alarm I had set for the ratatouille rang through the house. I scrambled to the oven, turned off the alarm, slipped on an oven mitt and took out the piping hot stew. The aroma of garlic and stewed tomato filled the room. I looked around, then turned to Leonard and his father.

“Um… where are the plates?” I asked. Leonard smiled and walked next to me. He opened the cupboard by my side and took out four plates. “Here they are,” Leonard said. He waddled to the table, holding the plates to his chest. The plates must be heavy. I brought the ratatouille to the table. I grabbed a spatula and served equal portions on the plates. Right on time, too. My mother had finished the suit.

“What’s all this?” she asked. Leonard perked up. “Marshall made lunch! Ratatouille!” he said with a wide grin. He picked up the fork and tasted it. He gasped and his eyes widened. I swear I saw them twinkle. Because of his reaction, my mother and Leonard’s father tasted as well. They had the same reaction. My mother looked at me and smiled.

“Well done, Marshall.” she said, patting my head. I smiled back and ate. 

That was the beginning of a long-lasting relationship with someone I never would’ve met any other way.


End file.
